Tolkien Overlords
by Omega Overlord
Summary: Story 4: Two Overlords and one Overlady; Erasmus, Acheron, and Persephone. Only the latter has yet to show the family just what she is capable of, and the poor world of Middle Earth is the garden she has chosen for this.
1. Introduction

Intro: A Challenge

Netherworld:

Acheron Killgore let out a light yawn, stretching his arms high over his head as he slowly strolled through the corridors of his family's home. He'd had a hell of a night, in the best way possible. His father, Erasmus, had continued the recent trend of being incomparably awesome and had generously offered up the life-force to Mortis in the Spawning Pits for him to revive Kelda and Juno. And of course, he had had to celebrate their return the best way he knew how. So, really things were looking up even if he wasn't at the absolute top of the food-chain anymore, so to speak. He'd have to come up with some way to give back though, his pride wasn't going to let him just keep taking without- While his eyes were looking upwards something caught his advancing feet, rudely ruining his moment of serenity as he pitched forward almost in slow-motion to land flat on his face.

A feminine giggle hit his ears, bluntly informing him of whom he had to blame for this small humiliation, as if he really needed any clues. "**Damn it Persephone, you do realize that tripping people for no reason is fucking childish?**"

On cue, his sister came into his line of sight as he was picking himself up off the floor, her light violet, short heels clicking rhythmically on the black stone. "**Oh come on Acheron, it's a little sister's job to play pranks on her older brother, and for him to do so back. Or have you forgotten about dumping fire-pepper into my favorite bra while I was sleeping?**"

He started softly laughing, the memory cheering him greatly as he climbed to his feet and locked eyes with his sister. "**Well it's your fault for leaving it out for me to tamper with. Besides, you deserved it for flaunting those boulders on your chest. You make my Mistresses fell inadequate.**"

A fake frown crept across Persephone's undeniably gorgeous face. "**Well that's not my fault. I didn't choose to be born as a ravishing goddess.**" The young woman cut him off before he could shoot back. "**Anyway, I didn't stop you so we could just trade insults. Do you think you could go and fetch father from his machine shop? I have something I want to talk to the both of you about.**"

His left eyebrow twitched upwards. "**And, is there a reason you can't just follow me there?**"

The young woman just shook her head, silver tresses flying about with the motion. "**Not one I'm going to tell you.**"

With that, Persephone spun on her dainty heels and strut off. He had to wonder, did his sister know just how much she swung her hips? Because she reminded him of Juno, and not in the funny way, more of the slutty way.

On his hip, Soul Calibur sent a query to his mind. "_So, are we going to do what the little diva asks?_"

He shrugged as he started walking towards his father's forge/machine shop. "**I guess I might as well. It's been two months since Pandora stopped being a fun place to be. I could certainly use the action.**"

As he went he started to think about the changes the encounter with "modern" technology had made upon the Netherworld. Small things mostly, electric lights dotted the walls everywhere except in Erasmus's own room. Apparently his father preferred fire-light. Air-conditioning, mostly for the bedrooms, had come in. No internet yet, as no one in the Netherworld had the slightest idea of how to bridge the dimensional gap constantly for digital data. By far the greatest shift was in the forge he just now started to descend into. No longer was it a place where his father beat great chunks of metal into shape, well not _just_ that anymore. A whole separate wing had been made, filled with so many tiny parts his head started to hurt just from looking around; the complete opposite of his father. Erasmus reveled in it all and applied himself to this "engineering" and "mechanics" with a daunting tenacity.

Entering the "machine shop" he called out into the metal mess. "**Hey dad, where you at?**"

The answer came shortly. "**Back here Acheron, at my bench.**"

So prompted he started to pick his way through the scattered equipment, slowly working his way towards the back of the workshop. Erasmus was hunched over the bench fiddling with some unknown contraption or collection of parts. It looked rather small though, in comparison to when his father was tinkering with Lisa's AMP suit, much to the young woman's alarm.

The seated god pointed off to his right, not taking his red eyes off of the collection of parts. "**Can you hand me that file there? The one at the far end of the bench.**"

Still not certain which tool that was he picked one up at random and placed it in his father's waiting hand. Whatever he picked was apparently good enough, because Erasmus made no complaint before using the file to make correct some impossibly tiny flaw in whatever he was working on.

The god started to assemble the device, speaking while he did. "**So, what purpose does your visit serve? As much as I would like to think otherwise I find it unlikely that you would come all the way down here just to socialize.**"

He shrugged. "**Yeah, well a certain prissy diva wants me to collect you. She wants to see us both out on the…**" He trailed off as he finally recognized the shape of what his father was making. "**Is that a gun?**"

Erasmus slid the last piece into place and almost reverently lifted the finished weapon. "**Indeed it is. After all, one has to adapt to the world around them, no? And I of course, put more trust in a weapon that I have crafted personally.**" The god slid the firing chamber open and closed a few times. "**I've assembled this once before in order to get it evaluated under RDA military records. It goes without saying that they possessed no equivalent arms, but I was able to obtain a rough estimate of its firing strength.**" Erasmus set the gun on his hip, where it stuck with a metallic clack. "A**ccording to those guesses, and the Navi target I tested this gun out on, this hand-sized tool fires mystic slugs roughly the strength of an eight hundred and eighty millimeter bazooka, very much fitting the moniker of 'hand-cannon.' Just like the gun I modeled it after, a Desert Eagle.**"

He had to repeat part of that. "**Eight hundred and…**" He shook his head. "**No such thing as overkill, right?**"

A ghost of a smile flashed his way from within his father's helm. "**Indeed. Now, you were saying something about Persephone wanting to see us?**"

He shrugged. "**Out on the veranda. I have no idea what she wants beyond that, but, well, I'm bored.**"

The god chuckled. "**As good a reason as any. Now…**" Erasmus set a hand on his shoulder. "**… Let us be on our way then.**"

He started to speak. "**What are you talking-**"

He yelled in surprise as the floor dropped out from under him. Sure, he did the same sort of thing all the time on his own, but that was when he was actually expecting it. His father's manipulation of the Netherworld on the other hand, that was always unexpected. And before he could blink he somehow wound up out on the veranda, in front of a very surprised Persephone.

Shaken from the impromptu semi-teleportation, he nonetheless gestured towards Erasmus. "**One father, as requested. Now what the hell did you drag us out here for?**"

Persephone gestured towards the Netherworld Gate, opening it. "**Step on through, it'll be easier to show you.**"

His sister leaped through the Gate without another word, leaving both him and his father alone on the veranda in a moment of awkward silence; until Erasmus let out a short "heh" and leapt through without a word as well.

He muttered to himself. "**That girl really likes getting people to jump through hoops.**" And he followed as well.

Mordor: Ash Plains

Persephone Killgore found herself in a grand position. She felt it high time to prove herself when it came to Overlording, and what better way to do that than show up both her father and brother at the same time. Of course she would have to play things smart, but she had been planning this little charade for months now, long before her father and brother had overcome their initial issues with each other. True, those issues wouldn't have really come into play even if they hadn't been resolved. Around her grim, desolate land of Mordor sprawled to the far off range of knife-toothed mountains. Grey ash swirled with the slightest motion, annoyingly sticking to her light purple shoes and the hem of her dress. The light of the sun was dimmed by still more choking ash, rendering the land even grimmer. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to linger here a second longer than necessary.

The low whirl of magic signaled Erasmus's arrival and she turned to him. "**So, what do you think daddy?**"

The blood-eyed god gazed around slowly for a few moments before answering. "**I think, that you aught to wait a few seconds for Acheron to get here. Save yourself the trouble of explaining yourself twice. Although I imagine that is what you were going to do anyway.**"

She did indeed wait for Acheron to show, only a scant second later, before speaking again. "**Well, what do you think of the place?**"

Her brother answered the query this time while staring around at the barren ash land, and if anything he sounded quite unimpressed. "**This had better not be your idea of a joke.**"

She gestured around. "**Of course not, brother. This is Mordor, and I think it fair to assume that there is nothing that any of us would want here. But, this is a small part of a world much larger, one the people call 'Middle Earth.**" She let out a short giggle. "**I was going to bring it to heel by myself, but then I had the idea that, maybe we could do it together, in a sort of competitive arrangement.**"

Acheron perked up immediately. "**Competition? Sounds like my kind of game, if you explain the terms before I agree.**"

She smiled, now was the time to set the bait. "**It's a simple prospect. I name three kingdoms of Middle Earth and each of us take one. The first to fully conquer their respective territory wins.**" She nodded towards her father. "**Daddy, since you have a severe advantage over both me and Acheron I would suggest you take the realm of Moria. To further level the playing field I won't tell you where it is, you'll have to find it yourself.**"

Erasmus nodded slowly. "**That does seem fair. You seem to have done your homework thoroughly on this matter.**"

The compliment was accurate, but she already knew that, so she turned to her brother. "**As for you, I think you would like Gondor. It's the largest kingdom of men this land has to offer but it's fairly compact. Unlike father I'll give you a map. I'd wager you could use it.**"

Acheron grumbled slightly. "**A pointing finger would be too much effort huh? Whatever, I can handle a map. Fork it over.**"

A snap of her fingers caused the pre-prepared map to 'poof' into existence in front of her brother, who eagerly snatched it out of the air. So far her plan was going perfectly. Now all she had to do was talk up the challenge she was setting for herself, when in actuality it would be easier than breaking a twig.

She spoke, trying to sound as modest as possible. "**As for me, I think I'll take Rohan. It's not quite as powerful as Gondor and they suffered some serious losses in the last war to hit the land, but they are very large kingdom in terms of land. I'll have my work cut out for me chasing them all down.**"

Acheron laughed. "**Just don't ruin your heels with all that walking.**"

She smiled to herself. Acheron bought it, but her father was a much harder mark to read. He likely wouldn't say anything even if he suspected foul play though. She was still his little girl, even if she was almost eighteen.

She smiled publically, containing her malicious glee. "**So, the terms are acceptable to everyone?**"

Erasmus nodded. "**They are to me. Acheron?**"

Her brother shrugged. "**Works for me.**"

She chuckled lightly. "**It's on then. May the best Overlord win!**"

Erasmus half-turned away, towards the north-west. "**I wish you both the best of luck then. Farewell!**"

With that parting word her father leapt off into the sky, touching down barely within sight off in the distance before vanishing completely.

Acheron spoke briefly. "**Hey, you know where he's supposed to be going, right? Is he…?**"

She sighed, genuinely vexed. "**He is going the right way, regrettably.**"

Her brother looked off after their father for a moment, and then turned back to her. "**Say, want to make this a little more interesting? A side-bet, just between us. Because I'm sure one of us is inevitably going to get stuck in dead last on this.**"

Surprised, but only just, she was cautious. "**That would depend what you have in mind.**"

Acheron sounded quite smug. "**Loser has to streak through the countryside of the Overworld back home, stark naked, one edge of the map to the other.**"

She held out her hand. "**You'll regret this.**"

Acheron shook the offered hand. "**I doubt that very much.**" Her brother started to jog away. "**Get yourself ready to taste bitter defeat!**"

She smiled as she watched Acheron go. Yes, she had given him a map and he was following it, but that wasn't going to do him any good, not yet anyway. She had enchanted the map to send him off in the wrong direction for a whole day. After all, she had never said that she would point him in the right direction.

She laughed softly to herself, out loud. "**Ah, this is almost going to be too easy. Even if I weren't just going to stroll on into Edoras, mind-slave their king, and call it a victory I'd clinch this. Moria is huge and utterly infested with goblins, and Gondor, well, Gondor has nothing extra special about it but the extra day should give me all the time I need!**"

Her laugh turned into a semi-demented cackle and soared in volume. Visions of crushing victory filled her mind to the brim; her father's grudging acceptance that she was no longer a little girl, Acheron's sullen expression of shock, and the humiliation of sending her brother streaking through crowded rural areas. Oh the delight she was going to have.

Calming herself slightly she started to talk to herself. "**Now where did I stash that horse? I am NOT ruining these heels by walking to Rohan…**"


	2. Bloody Compass

Chapter 1: Bloody Compass

Eregion:

Erasmus stared out through the vast expanse of pine forest he found himself in, silently debating his options. His destination, Moria, might as well have been a grey needle hidden in a pile of black needles, utterly improbable to find without some damn fine luck. That of course brought up the easy solution of asking for directions, but that was ironically more difficult than it sounded. Judging just from Persephone's comments, Moria was about as dangerous as a place could get for normal people. Further, it was highly unlikely that the average person would have any idea what he was talking about should he inquire about the location. That was if he were able to find any people in the first place out in the hinterlands as he apparently was.

He murmured to himself out loud. "**Assuming that I'm not just being set up to take a fall.**"

Persephone was up to something, of that much he was certain. What he could not fathom is _what_ she would be trying to pull. He didn't like to think ill of his daughter, but she sounded far too modest when she was detailing the challenge she had set for herself, and Persephone was anything but modest or humble. If anything she was like her mother Ivy, brash, arrogant, and with a penchant for the occasional idiotic mistake.

He looked skyward as if Isabella had literally heard the thought. "**I'm sorry dear but you know it's true. For you and our daughter both.**"

He sighed, hoping that whatever Persephone was planning didn't blow up in her face. It was contradictory of him, being in competition with her in this instance, but she was still his little girl no matter how old she was. And of course, that made him very protective. He would further admit for the longest time he verged on overbearing when she was growing up; which made him proud of her for simply gathering the gumption to strike out from the Netherworld at all. Honestly, he'd started to think that maybe he'd pampered Persephone a bit too much.

A shift in the wind brought a smell to him. "**Ah, now we're getting somewhere.**" There was the scent of hay, of cured leather, of nervous sweat. "**Hmm, I feel as if I should recognize this, beyond the horses of course but…**" He shook his head and turned his gaze off through the trees, catching movement approximately two hundred yards off. "**Heh, now why don't I go introduce myself?**"

He sprinted towards the sight, and the smell, stopping in a dark glade to observe without being observed. As his nose had told him, it was a small caravan of horses traversing through the forest without an apparent care in the world. At least that's what he thought, right up until he saw the physique of the individual leading the little band. More specifically, _her ears_. Elves, the entire caravan was composed exclusively of elves. More than anything else, elves got him a little hot under the collar, especially the ones who almost worshipped him back in the Overworld. Was it fairly irrational of him, yes, but their endless chanting in his presence was almost enough to drive him mad. He was sure the elves he looked upon now had no relationship at all, but that was the irrational part of his hatred. Putting aside completely their universally intolerable attitude and superiority complex.

He stepped out of the shadows into the path of the elven group. "**Hello, vermin.**"

The leading elf, a woman with a refined, stately air, more so than the usual elven pomp, recoiled atop her horse while practically breathing the words. "It is not possible." The other elves, adorned in armor typically reminiscent of leaves, quickly reformed themselves between him and the elf woman before she spoke again. "How is it you continue to walk this earth, Sauron?"

His right hand slowly drifted towards his pistol as he answered. "**Sauron? You have me confused with someone else, someone far less lethal.**"

To illustrate the point he drew his virgin firearm and fired from the hip, placing a magic slug in the chest of the elven archer on the far right of the formation. The solitary round blew the elf apart completely, blood and limbs flying off in wild directions. And in a rather macabre twist of humor one of those flailing limbs, bloody bits and all, smacked the elf woman in the face, sullying her otherwise pristine white attire with crimson. More amusing still, she barely reacted, clearly too shocked to flinch or cry out in disgust.

He shifted his target, speaking as he now aimed down the sights of his freshly blooded gun. "**Unless you wish for me to duplicate the fate of your comrade with your charge I would advise you to unstring those arrows. Be thankful that for now all I wish is a brief bit of dialogue.**" As the elves shot nervous glances at each other he mumbled to himself, commentating on his new gun's first kill. "**A little low considering I was trying for the face. I suppose I still need to work on my quick-draw, but that will come with time.**"

Eventually, after daubing the majority of the gore from her hands and face with a promptly discarded handkerchief, the elf woman, presumably some sort of noble, gestured to the elven archers. "Do as he asks, I would not see your lives thrown away for naught." She turned her irritatingly serene face towards him. "You shall have your dialogue stranger, speak."

After the last mounted archer stowed their bow he holstered his pistol, insofar as "holstering" meant magically reattaching it to the hip of his armor. "**I seek the realm of Moria, directions would be most appropriate.**"

This time the elves made no effort to hide their shock, and openly exchanged quizzical glances with each other before the noblewoman responded. "What reason would drive one, alone, towards that den of wickedness?"

His temper, already in a tenuous state due to the nature of the beings he was facing, took another hit. "**Let me be clear, when I requested dialogue I did not request it so that a glitzed-up tree-hugger could question my actions.**"

One of the twenty remaining archers, likely a captain or more given the slightly more ornate suit of armor, talked back at him. "You will take greater care with your tongue, brigand. You address Galadriel, Lady of Light, an honor few men have ever, or will ever live to boast of."

A sniff of derision escaped him, though he made no effort to stifle it. "**Really? Consider me phenomenally unimpressed, and I am disapproving of your kind in general as a rule. Normal man's reverence of you is misplaced, you suffer all the same faults as us, all the same vices, all of the lapses in judgment…**" It was at this point he became aware of an unorthodox feeling on the inside of his own skull. It was like, a chill breeze that one did not notice unless specifically waiting for it. It wafted through his head unchecked; at least it had prior to his awareness. He looked towards the culprit, temper flaring dangerously close to the boiling point. "**...And if your 'Galadriel' has any sense of self-preservation she will immediately cease her casual perusal of my thoughts. Such intimacy is reserved for family and lovers.**" He built upon that, deliberately seeking to goad a reaction out of the elven host. "**Or are you as casual with your own intimacy as you are with others? Has the famous elven prudishness miraculously skipped a lone specimen?**"

It worked beautifully; the same captain drew a blade and pointed it at him. "Slander! You will retract those words, fiend!"

He chuckled to himself. "**Insult the woman's honor, always works.**" He looked towards the incensed elven captain, casually dropping a line. "**Else suffer what consequence?**"

The other elves drew swords, tiny, single-edged slivers of silver, and formed a line in front of the one they called Galadriel before the captain spoke again. "Else we shall wash her honor clean with your black blood!"

He reacted in kind, drawing Soul Edge from his back with a swift flourish. "**There is one truth to that statement, that I have black blood. As for your odds of actually spilling any of it, well, slightly less so.**"

He dashed left, a plan already forming in his head. In his experience, elves were good at one thing, and that was precision in warfare. Disrupt that, and they crumbled like a house of cards. Dodging the obligatory arrows he pointed his index finger at the group, casting Betrayal onto three specific elves, one in left-center, one in right-center, and one right next to the captain. Those three elves immediately turned their blades upon their fellows, scoring three kills before any of the others could realize what was going on, including the hapless captain. He was moderately surprised when Galadriel started barking out orders, but it was irrelevant to the inevitable conclusion. Going for the jugular, he used a tree to slingshot himself out into the air over the mounted elves. Normally, given the elves exceptional accuracy with their bows this would be a bad idea, but he had an ace up his sleeve. As he fell, a wave of his hand summoned the Infernal Shield, vaporizing the arrows and, when he had fallen far enough, the elves themselves. They screamed only momentarily before their bodies were purged from existence, and as the icing on the cake he clipped the head of Galadriel's mount, affording him the humor of watching the stodgy elf tumble unceremoniously to the ground, in the mud, with the dead animal falling over on top of her.

He waited, the point of Soul Edge resting in the dirt, for the elf to crawl back to her feet. "**So, I suggest this for the last time; you can either do this the easy way, or the hard way. Simply tell me what I want to know, or I beat it out of you.**" He kicked one of the elven blades across the ground towards Galadriel to illustrate his point. "**Though if I had my choice…**" He let out a low, menacing laugh. "**… I would of course go with the latter.**"

Mordor: Ash Plains

Lisa Ryder slowly trudged through a veritable ocean of volcanic ash, very glad that her AMP suit was vacuum-sealed. Acheron however, walking ahead of her as he was, didn't seem to care all that much. He was just staring at an unfurled piece of paper and occasionally muttering. She was glad he knew what he was doing, because she didn't at all, and that counted for her personal life. She was Acheron's "Mistress," and two months into that relationship she still wasn't sure what that meant exactly. Hell, if anyone had told her three months ago that she'd be sharing her bed with a demigod and eight other women, and living in a light version of Hell she'd have just started backing away from said person very slowly.

Acheron called out. "**Hey, hold up.**"

She refocused, looking towards her lover. "What, what is it?"

The demigod laughed. "**According to Persephone's little map here, Gondor is right over that mountain range ahead of us.**"

She looked up at the mentioned mountains. Against her will she trembled a little at the sight. Knife-edged peaks shot skyward with slopes so steep she'd never get her AMP suit up them. Acheron did remember that he'd brought her along almost exclusively for the suit, right? She made sure to remind him of this.

Acheron, who had doffed his usual helmet in favor of a wide-brimmed hat his father had gifted him for a past birthday, tipped the brim up to show the big grin on his face. "**I never said anything about actually climbing the damn things.**"

Realizing what he was insinuating she shrieked. "No, don't you dare…!"

Ignoring her quite vocal objection Acheron snapped his fingers, opening a portal directly beneath her AMP suit. She had no idea where he had aimed her, if at all, but she did know that whatever the feet of her suit had landed on was in no condition to handle a piece of heavy machinery. Her feet slid right out from under her. And she was painfully aware of this by virtue of the clouds of dust and loose rock flying by her canopy. She was a good AMP pilot, but she'd never been through this before; so she reacted like any reasonably sane person would, she flailed like mad for something to grab onto. This went poorly, and so she kept sliding until her suit hit something more level and skidded to a halt. She just lay there for a second, stunned.

Acheron appeared over her, still grinning like a fiend. "**Fun, right?**"

She groaned. "About as much fun as having my nails pulled."

The demigod shook his head. "**Buzz-kill. I'd call you drama queen too, but I think Hancock has that title permanently on lock.**" Acheron backed away from her suit, but she could still hear him. "**Anyway, we're here and that's the important part.**" He laughed, presumably not at her, as she worked her AMP suit back into a standing position. "**Heh heh, Gondor's going to get ripped a new one before I'm done.**"

Standing, she turned her suit while airing a question. "And what exactly does that involve?"

Acheron shrugged nonchalantly. "**Eh, sack the capitol, kill their king, and take a seat on the throne. Simple.**" He gestured towards her. "**Besides, how hard is it going to be anyway? I'm all but certain that these poor saps aren't any match for gunfire, let alone whatever cannon my dad retrofitted your suit with.**"

She moved the aforementioned gun-arm, casting a brief glance towards the "charge" meter that had replaced the old ammo counter. "I haven't exactly tried it out yet. No telling what it'll do."

Acheron shrugged again. "**No big deal. I'm sure you can just start pimp-slapping people if the thing doesn't work for whatever dumbass reason.**" The demigod did an about-face. "**Now enough jabbering, there is an ass that needs kicking!**"

Sighing, she set off after the young Overlord at the best pace her suit could manage. Thankfully the area around them was no longer an ashen wasteland. It was a plain of verdant grasslands that stretched on as far as her eyes could see. Far off to her right she was just barely able to see some sort of animal languidly meandering through the plains. It bore some small resemblance to a cow, but then again so did a lot of grazing animals.

She called out to Acheron. "Hey, do you think we're alone out here?"

The young Overlord slowed a little and turned his head. "**You want to pop the cork on your suit for some fresh air right? I don't see why not; just don't pop it too far. I wouldn't want some random, angry archer to stick you in the ribs through sheer luck.**"

She smiled a little at the concern, and cracked the seal on the AMP suit's canopy. The rush of air to greet her was the sweetest she had smelled in many a year, especially including the Netherworld and the semi-constant stench of brimstone. She had to wonder, was this what Earth had smelled like before the people of her world had ruined it? Better? Regardless, she was dumbstruck either way. That was of course when fate conspired to ruin the moment as something small and flying fast clicked off of the clear canopy; and she doubted very much that it was a bird.

Acheron had apparently heard it as well, because he whirled around with Soul Calibur/pistol extended. "**Ok, whoever shot that arrow had better show themselves right fucking now, or I torch all the damn grass till I find you.**" To illustrate the point Acheron fired his pistol, unleashing an arc of lightning that scorched a ten foot square section of the prairie. "**Convinced yet, fuckers?**"

Immediately, yet still slightly slowly, a small band of people rose out of the grass directly to the right of the scorched section of the prairie. They held their hands over their heads, the universal "I'm not dangerous" look. They were clad in drab robes, robes that bore a close resemblance to the grass around them in terms of color. Their faces were hidden by a strip of cloth of the same color. Come to think of it, if the cloth had all been black they would have looked remarkably like the stereotypical ninja.

Acheron mouthed off, clearly still agitated. "**You know, for Gondorians you really aren't making a good first impression.**"

The eyes of one of the men, presumably a hunter of some sort, acquired a look of confusion momentarily. "You stand in Rhun stranger, Gondor lies far beyond the Black Land to the West."

The demigod lowered his gun, indignation seeping into his voice. "**What are you talking about? The map I have specifically told me to go East to get to…**"

She looked towards Acheron to see why he had trailed off. Her lover was staring at the map his sister had given him, before all their eyes the geography on the paper reversed itself, revealing a glowing purple message that flashed into and out of view, "Gotcha, sucker." The young Overlord remained silent for a long time, blankly starring at the map. She could see the figurative gears turning in his head, and he was not happy, not at all.

Acheron's reaction came out surprisingly subdued. "**That bitch…**"

Rohan: Edoras

Persephone let out a quiet sigh as her horse slowly meandered up to and through the gates of Edoras, home of the court of Rohan. The guards stationed above and around she had already charmed, so they didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow at her passage. Truthfully, she was gladder of that due to the lack of flirting attempts than anything else, because with her looks she'd never get anywhere quietly. Cross-country was different, like her trip here. She had magically bolstered the stamina and strength of her horse to make the journey as fast as she had, passing no other sentient life.

Moving the horse into the available stables she hopped off before giving the animal a shove on the flank into the stall, like hell she was going to step in that filthy hay and ruin her shoes. Truth be told she was surprised the animal had lasted all the way to Edoras. She wasn't sure that she had perfected that spell before using it…

Behind her a soft cry signaled the horse keeling over and dropping like a sack of bricks, dead as a rock. "**Oh, well, poor thing.**" She shrugged wantonly. "**Hmph, not like there aren't several thousand more in this kingdom. One isn't going to ruin anything.**" She cast a glance towards the center of the "city," the court perched high atop a hill before laughing softly. "**Oh, poor Eomer, he's going to be so surprised.**"

Edoras: Court

Eomer, king of Rohan, sat upon his throne while staring out the far end of the hall towards the darkened, open plains. Truly, he did not envy his late uncle for his duties of state. He would much rather be out on the plains, riding with his men, even though the threat of orcs and wargs had lessened considerably with Sauron's destruction. But instead, endless councils between him and a panoply of advisers, endless sundry matters that required his attention. Truly, kingship was an overrated profession. Nonetheless he would do his duty, as he owed it to his late uncle and the people of Rohan.

Now though, he could bear no more. He rose from his throne, weariness tingeing his voice. "The hour grows late; I must retire for the night."

He passed by the guards as they saluted him, nodding in approval to each one even though he had not had the time to know each of them by name yet. So many of them bore the faces of a green young man who had never yet been forced to bloody a blade in defense of lives, it made him feel far older than his years. If the darkness had truly passed, was he now a relic of an obsolete era? Such thoughts brought him no peace or comfort personally, but gave him hope for the future.

He opened the door to his chambers, moved through, and closed them behind him with a sigh; eyes closing with relief. "I will sleep well this night, perhaps."

Another voice answered, a very feminine voice. "**Perhaps you will, indeed.**"

His eyes snapped open, instinct leading to draw his blade at once. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

A chuckle followed his demand. "**Really? That's your first thought when you hear that there's a lady waiting for you in your bed?**" Two purple, glowing eyes became visible near the headboard of the bed before a stronger, white eldritch light appeared. "**I mean, really, you draw your sword too?**" She laughed at him again. "**I suppose if you insist, but wouldn't you rather draw your **_**other**_ **sword?**"

The comment itself was so suggestive, so sultry, so damnably seductive that he almost thought he heard the walls swoon. That was in addition to the fact that, well, put bluntly, the woman on his bed was beautiful enough to put elf maidens to shame. Her skin seemed as fair as snow in the dim light and just as flawless. Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him, but she seemed as tall as him, maybe even a little taller. She was still clothed, but her dress left nothing of her figure to the imagination, particularly that she sported perhaps the most grandiose pair of breasts he had ever, or would ever see.

His mouth felt incredibly dry, whether from anxiety or arousal he could not tell. "Who, who are-"

The woman interrupted him, as if it were unacceptable for him to have any input at all. "**You can call me Persephone.**" She crooked a finger, more ordering than inviting. "**Now come here.**"

Part of him knew full well that what was happening was wrong on so many levels, but other parts of him were screaming so loudly that his reason was drowned out in the cacophony. He hadn't lain with a woman in, well he couldn't remember how long. Not since Saruman had poisoned Theodan's mind. He was only human. But as soon as he set one knee on the bed one of Persephone's elegant fingers placed itself in the center of his forehead, stopping him from advancing further with a shocking amount of strength.

The woman smirked, all flirtatious airs vanishing immediately. "**Gotcha!**"

What could only be magic played before his eyes before a cold sensation lanced through his head. His volition failed him, his limbs refused to obey him as he bade them flight, all he could do was manage a single cry of anguish before that function failed him as well.

Frantic pounding struck the door, accompanied by voices. "My lord, what's going on? Get that door open!"

Elation soared through his shackled soul. Even if he could not act on his own surely his men would not be taken in by this succubus while he was obviously in distress. Heavy thuds sounded out as the guards rammed the door, and eventually the latch gave way with a thunderous sundering.

Persephone however, seemed to have a perfect response planned. She shrieked, covering part of herself with one pillow. "**Do you mind?**"

Those three words alone sent his men stumbling over themselves in a combined effort to vacate, stammering rushed apologies to both him and the "lady" for misconstruing and disturbing their "private time." And despite his best efforts, he could do nothing to alter that misconception.

The witch calling herself Persephone callously tossed her temporary prop aside and scowled momentarily. "**Hmph, and here I thought I had already charmed all of the guard to not interfere.**" She looked towards him, and apparently saw something in his expression. "**Oh? What's that look for? Go ahead, speak your mind, but do it quietly.**"

Persephone's permission loosened his tongue, and he made no effort to censor himself. "You miserable harlot, what do you think to accomplish with this little charade? My people have already suffered through the possession of one sovereign; they will not hesitate to question me once you start making changes."

The witch started to laugh, a sound she stifled with one hand. "**You simpleminded fool; didn't you hear that I've already entranced all of your men? The only people that will question your reign under my thumb are of the plebian variety, and I'm sure you know just how quickly the rabble grow quiet when there are swords flashing in their faces.**" She seemed to master her mirth, but that only revealed her scorn. "**But you know what I find funniest out of all this, you, you actually thought there for a second that I was going to let you touch me. I mean sure, the magic spell I lay over the threshold of your door certainly put that suggestion in your head, but a filthy country lord like you, truly? I'm so far out of your league it's an insult for you just to think about it.**" She stuck her nose in the air haughtily. "**And I'll have you know I'm no harlot, I'm still a maiden.**" Persephone, at that point, ceased directing her words towards him, though he could discern a tiny blush on her cheeks. "**Although I suppose it really doesn't matter in the big picture. After I show off the subjugated court to my father and brother I think I'll just kill all of you and start from scratch. It's easier that way.**" The witch looked back towards him, smiling. "**But that sordid affair can wait till morning. I'm tired, and of course I'm going to requisition the best bed for myself. So, you go do whatever. Fair warning though, none of your men, including you, are at all allowed to raise a hand to me. Keep that in mind while you still live.**"

With a dismissive wave of her hand Persephone shooed him away from his own bed. His feet started taking him, against his volition, towards the door where he was immediately greeted by the three young guardsmen who had been so concerned for his safety.

The witch spoke again. "**Oh, right, kill them. I can't have mavericks in my palace, poor excuse for one that it is anyway.**"

Unwillingly, his sword exited its scabbard and found the neck of the first guardsman. The other two were too shocked to react or defend themselves for a deed which scarred his heart beyond measure.

Eregion:

Erasmus smiled to himself as he worked Soul Edge around in deft little twists to continually parry the incoming strokes from Galadriel's blade. He would grudgingly admit one thing, that she certainly knew how to handle a sword, for an elf. It was a point of debate if the elf's long dress was hampering her footwork, as on rare occasion all four of his brides had exhibited the full extent of their combat prowess in formal attire. Setsuka in particular did such almost exclusively. But he had, how to say, played with his food for long enough. He had allowed this little duel to drag on for at least a good hour, so it was high time he ended it.

He spoke, never taking his focus off of his blade work. "**Last chance to surrender, and bear in mind that this is the third said chance. I've been exceedingly patient with your retinue and yourself, prior, of course, to goading them into combat.**"

Galadriel responded with typical elven stubbornness. "My mind has not changed villain, nor has my resolve faltered. If you are to kill me then you would have done so already."

He smirked. "**Well, that's where you are wrong.**" He deflected the elf's blade upward, bringing his free hand around in a vicious backhand strike to Galadriel's sword-hand, disarming the elf cleanly, before using that same hand to lift her into the air by the crown of her skull. "**What you fail to remember is that I still need my directions, and if you will not provide them willingly then I will tear them from your mind myself.**"

Typically, an Overlord of his station would utilize Evil Presence from a distance to subjugate an enemy. This was slightly useful if the individual casting the spell was squeamish or possessed of a particularly haughty disposition, but he was neither squeamish nor haughty. Using it at point-blank range like he was now though, that opened up a few new possibilities, like what he had just described. As he cast the spell the points of his fingers dug into Galadriel's skull, giving him the direct access he wanted. It was something of a voyeuristic experience. He saw the particular memory he sought as an eagle eyed view of the land, a green carpet of pine forest that bordered a great lake which held the passage he was looking for on the eastern bank. Of course Galadriel's other memories flittered through his perusal, odd moments that may or may not have been tied to the region he was viewing. He learned two things from those random bits though; one, that Galadriel was rather fantastically old, and two, that she had a husband. Both fairly useless, but he harbored the thought that the husband would seek revenge should he slay Galadriel, and in all likelihood he was.

He drew the elf slightly closer, bringing his voice down to little more than a sinister whisper. "**Tell me, is your husband the vindictive type?**" The elf looked shocked, prompting him to chuckle. "**Not so fun when someone does it to you, now is it?**"

He raised the hand holding Galadriel a little higher, and dropped her. Once the elf's feet hit the ground she staggered back one step, a lapse he took advantage of by ducking and sweeping both of her feet out from under her with his right leg. As Galadriel toppled he was already rising again, flipping Soul Edge in his grip so that he drove the end of the greatsword down into the elf's belly at the exact moment her back hit the ground.

He leaned forward, both hands clasped over the pommel of Soul Edge, to look the doomed elf in the eyes. "**It seems that the 'Lady of Light' is extinguished this day. And what an ignominious end, slain in a tiny skirmish by a lone assailant, body left for the crows to feast upon. No grand tale to tell of your passing, just a tiny footnote. More than should ever be granted for an elf.**" With one motion he tore his blood-red blade up and out of Galadriel; "up" in relation to her supine body, cleaving torso and head in half before stylishly twirling the sword and sticking it in its place on his back. "**Fatality.**"

About to simply walk away, a random ray of light from the setting sun broke through the forest and illuminated something that sparkled so brightly it made him wince when the light hit his eyes. After a moment in which his vision adjusted he looked again, noting a fairly brilliant ring on one of his latest kill's fingers. It wasn't exactly his style to steal from the dead, but this was a particularly dazzling piece, far more so than any piece of jewelry that had yet been made on his anvil. That fact was a little bit irritating, but not surprising considering his penchant for pragmatism verses the elfish penchant for elaboration. He knelt down, took the ring, and set off. Moria awaited him.


End file.
